


So Close, Too Far

by lostinwriting23



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, F/F, Found Family, Here we go again kids, Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Resurrection Ritual, not too much but like. It's mentioned.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:01:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22680649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostinwriting23/pseuds/lostinwriting23
Summary: "It doesn’t feel real. Or maybe it feels hyper real but she’s just empty. Time is slow, like in the Dungeon of Penance - spiraling and thick and heavy.  Everything is hollow. Even the colors seem muted (a part of Beau would scoff at the melodrama of it all if it weren’t painfully true.) The world feels faded and like she’s looking at it from underwater. The dirt, the trees, even her friends are swirls of faded colors and nebulous shapes. Or maybe that’s just the blood loss."After a hard fight, resurrection rituals have to come out to play, but not for the person any of them expected.
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett/Yasha, Fjord & Beauregard Lionett, Jester Lavorre/Beauregard Lionett, Jester Lavorre/Beauregard Lionett/Yasha, Jester Lavorre/Yasha
Comments: 9
Kudos: 263





	So Close, Too Far

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all. I swear. I SWEAR I meant to write fluff for once but then my darling friend (and glorious beta) @perksofbeingauselesslesbian and I started talking about things and one of us mentioned resurrection rituals and then it turned into Jester's and then it snowballed and here we are. Let me know what you think! Hope you're all taking excellent care of yourselves and having as good a week as you can!   
> <3,  
> M

Beau has no clue how the fuck this is happening. They have four people with the capacity for healing. _Four._ And of all of them, she’s-

It doesn’t feel real. Or maybe it feels hyper real but she’s just empty. Time is slow, like in the Dungeon of Penance - spiraling and thick and heavy. Everything is hollow. Even the colors seem muted (a part of Beau would scoff at the melodrama of it all if it weren’t painfully true.) The world feels faded, like she’s looking at it from underwater. The dirt, the trees, even her friends are swirls of faded colors and nebulous shapes. _Or maybe that’s just the blood loss._

Blue fingers, motionless and broken sit just inches from her knee and Beau wants to reach out and take them, hold something of her but the idea of Jester so still makes the bile rise in the back of her throat. She swallows it back, eyes burning wet and just stares at Jester’s hand. Chipped pink and purple polish. Clumps of dirt under the nails. Bruised and discolored from fighting against the-

_Please. Move. Just a little bit, please._

Sound is muffled and distant, indistinct around the roaring in her ears. Caleb is talking, she thinks. Caduceus is answering and Nott… Nott is up by Jester’s head, cradling her cheeks gently in her clawed hands, one vial already empty at her side.

“These potions are faulty,” Nott growls, dumping a second past Jester’s lips and furiously blinking tears out of her eyes.

Fjord ambles around Caleb and takes a knee. His eyes are wide and calm and Beau hates how in control he seems. He should be screaming, tearing his hair out, _anything_ because it’s _Jester._ He reaches down to touch a blue cheek and Nott is instantly between them, gnashing her teeth and looking more goblin-like than they’ve seen in a while.

“Don’t fucking touch her,” she screeches, trying to hoist her crossbow in an arm that’s obviously broken, “you had the chance to- to heal her, you were right next-”

His eyes flash and he swats the crossbow away, “At the beginning of the fight, Nott, and then you and I both got whipped away right off.”

“You’ve always been a weakling-”

“What and you couldn’t dodge out of the way, or were you too drunk?”

“You got free first why didn’t you go back to her and-”

“That fucking spell-”

“Ja,” Caleb agrees quickly, trying to dispel some of the tension. He’s held it together surprisingly well, Beau thinks distantly. _Better than me._ Her head still feels stuffed with cotton. She wants to be moving and screaming and fucking fighting but it’s like everything got sucked out into a void. Even the dull throbbing from the severe beating they all took during the fight doesn’t really register and she tries to tune her hearing back into whatever is happening.

Caleb still, _almost no time has passed_ , “And then that darkness spell fucked us all over-” And Beau immediately stops listening again because she doesn’t want to remember any of it.

The nothingness that even her goggles couldn’t penetrate, just the sounds of her friends growling and screaming and calling for each other. Doesn’t want the memory of emerging from the edge of it, Yasha at her back, just in time to see the sword plunge, only stopping when the hilt hit Jester’s sternum. Desperately wants to forget screaming until her voice was raw, the chain tentacles that grappled both her and Yasha as they tried to get to her, the crunch of her ribs as she struggled, and the way Jester whimpered, coughed from the ground. _So close but too far_. The sword withdrawing from her body, glistening and dripping with gore, blood spluttering out through the rip in the front of her dress in gouts. Her eyes rolling back and her body slumping to the floor like a rag doll.

She doesn’t move. She _keeps not moving._ It’s burning the back of her retinas.

_Who cares?_ Who cares that they killed the magic user and that chain-fucker? Who even cares about this fucking war or who wins or who’s trying to stop the peace talks because _Jester is-_

Where emptiness reigned only moments before, anger sweeps in like a tidal wave. With a scream of rage to rival Yasha, Beau propels herself to her feet and half way across the clearing. She’s a windmill of limbs, different body parts connecting with trees and stones, breaking, crunching, cracking, bleeding-

There’s an arm around her and she’s being forced away from it all. She fights against it, because feeling the stupid tree fall to pieces against her fist feels better than the _nothing,_ the _empty, the terror_ -

“This isn’t helping her.” Fjord’s voice growls in her ear, “Beau. Jester needs us.”

She stills, tense and shaking and gasping. _It’s not fair._ She wants to hit Fjord, throw him off her. She could. They both know it. The rage is like an inferno and it wants to _consume_. He knows something about that. She wants to be mad at _him._ It won’t fix anything but it’s easier than _this._

“Caduceus can fix this. He knows the spell. He and Jester have been preparing for something like this, you know that, that’s why they have all those bloody diamonds. We have to get her out of here first though. I know you’re scared but she needs you.”

All the fight goes out of her. _Caduceus can fix this._ She can come back. He can get her back to her, to them, to all of them. A sob of relief bubbles out of Beau’s lips and she clamps down on it before much more sneaks out. _Caduceus can fix this._

Fjord doesn’t say anything else but keeps his arm banded across her chest until she slumps, trembling, back against him. She shouldn’t be resting so much weight on him. He went down early in the fight and only barely got back up. But there’s no strength left in her limbs.

“How the fuck are you so calm?”

“I’m fucking terrified. It’s Jester.”

Beau turns around at the tremor in his voice but his eyes are dry. Embarrassed, she mops at her face with the backs of bloodied hands, takes her own weight back again and looks away from him.

“I’m here, Captain.”

He does her the courtesy of not commenting on the whole uncomfortable display, “Good. We need to get out of here. And Yasha-”

Beau’s head whips up a little desperately (okay, a lot desperately). Yasha had been at her side, when the fight ended but then- _Not both of them. I can’t do-_

She’s there, 30 feet back with her hands over her face, trembling. The Skin Gorger lies forgotten at her side. Beau’s stomach rolls and she shambles to her feet.

“Yasha,” she croaks, limping over, “Yash, hey.”

The taller woman flinches horribly when Beau slides her hand up her arm and to her shoulder. Beau’s gut twists and she swallows down the acid in her mouth and whatever had just overtaken her. Fjord was right. This wasn’t helping Jester. Or Yasha. And they all needed to work together to wake up from this nightmare.

She leans close and sweeps her hands down to squeeze Yasha’s wrists, “We can fix this. We… Caduceus can fix this. He has to and we need-”

Yasha’s hands drop from over her face and she stumbles forward, reaching blindly until her fingers bump into Beau’s waist, skating up her torso just high enough to find the scar tissue from where- _Oh._

“Yasha, hey, no. Don’t. She’s coming back, she has to come back, don’t-”

“He…That chain man,” Her voice is like shattered glass, higher than Beau’s heard before and so brittle, “He looked like Zuala and I couldn’t … I could not move.”

“When-”

“We came out of the darkness and it was her. With the sword in Jester. And then it was me with the sword and you on the ground and-”

It feels like the blood turns to ice in Beau’s veins and she covers Yasha’s hand on her with one hand, presses it flat to the scar so she can feel her breathing, and touches her cheek with the other. Her face is wet. She’s shaking. They all are.

Beau can’t see Yasha’s eyes, between her hair and Beau’s own tears but her thumb is stroking slowly over Beau’s skin and she’s _warm_ and _alive._

“We’re all pretty fucked up, and we… She needs you,” and for some reason thinking about Yasha carrying Jester’s body makes Beau’s heart shatter and she has to stop and take a shuddering breath against the shrapnel before continuing, “None of us are strong enough to carry her home.”

Yasha finally meets Beau’s eyes, wet and haunted and Beau’s hand her still on her cheek. Slowly, she nods into Beau’s hand, nudging her nose against her wrist before tangling their fingers over the scar. She lets Beau lead her back to the others.

Fjord’s got Jester halfway propped against his chest when they return. He’s crying ( _finally_ Beau thinks bitterly, mopping at her own cheeks again), tears streaming silently down his cheeks, and his arms are trembling.

“Yasha, I-” he starts but she shakes her head and kneels down at his side, looping an arm under Jester’s knees and using the other to tip Jester gently into her chest. The little trinkets and charms on her horns tinkle with the movement and it feels so wrong to hear it, unaccompanied by her voice or a laugh or- She stands easily, holding Jester against her so reverently that another wave of tears slip down Beau’s cheeks.

“I’ve got her,” Yasha murmurs. (“I’ve got you,” she whispers, breathing it against Jester’s hair and trying to see past the tunnel vision of _notagainnotagainnotagain)._ Her hands radiate a white light that sinks into Jester’s skin and Beau almost chokes on the hope that it will help.It doesn’t. It’s been too long and the guilt unfurls around Yasha like wings.

Beau leans down and hauls Fjord up too. He groans and doubles forward for a moment but then straightens somewhat, an arm around her shoulders, leaning heavily. There’s blood gathering at the corner of his lips and he’s babying his left side.

“Heal yourself, dumbass,” She reaches up and swipes a hand across both his cheeks and she can feel his jaw clenching, “She needs us, remember?”

He swallows hard, but closes his eyes and deep green energy washes away the worst of the bruising. Gouges start to knit together. Not fixed by any means, but no longer bleeding internally, she thinks. Some of the magic licks over into her and her floating ribs, cracked and twisted as they were from being restrained, wind their way back together.

“Thanks,” she mutters. He sniffles, nods. She catches a tear hanging off his chin with a knuckle and tightens her arm around his middle.

Ten feet away Caleb is busy drawing the teleportation circle on the ground, eyes unfocused but hands steady and sure. He’s done it enough times that it’s rote by now. Nott stands at his shoulder, leaning her head against him. Caduceus watches from a distance, holding the diamond from his component pouch tightly between his fingers, the only evidence of his nerves.

Beau helps Fjord hobble over, or maybe he’s helping her, she’s not even sure anymore. Yasha trails behind with Jester cradled close. She doesn’t look up when Caduceus, leaning heavily on his walking stick, makes his way to them.

“We’ll get this sorted, Miss Yasha,” he hums, in that low, sure way that usually puts her at ease. And it might have done, if Jester wasn’t so limp and so still in her arms. Caduceus touches the ends of Jester’s hair where they hang from Yasha’s arms and then nods to himself.

Finally, Caleb looks up, chalk poised over the final stroke of a sigil, “Are we ready?”

No one says anything to the contrary so he draws the last line and the circle blooms to life. With a backwards glance, Nott and Caleb are the first through, then Caduceus. Beau shoves Fjord in next and then, together, she and Yasha step through.

The palace guards in Rosahna are so used to their comings and goings now that the only look of real surprise comes from Yasha holding Jester’s body. Ignoring the stares and attempts at questions, Beau stays right by Yasha and Jester’s side, following Caleb up through the palace and onto the street.

The house is exactly like they left it, if a little dustier and they stand in the front hallway, at a bit of a loss.

“Caduceus, where should we do this?” Fjord asks quietly. The emptiness of the house is off-putting, like they’re trespassers in someone else’s home. Or maybe Jester was just the one who always made it feel like theirs.

“I think up under the tree would be nice. Near her shrine.” Caduceus motions toward the roof.

  
“Do you need anything other than the diamond?” Caleb has Nott on his back, her broken arm resting between his back and her chest to keep it as immobile as possible.

“Not technically, but if you have some chalk to spare, it might be nice to set up a little circle. Maybe some candles too.”

Fjord splits off in one direction, Caleb to another and Caduceus ambles to the kitchen, no doubt to make some fucking tea.

  
“We need to hurry, Caduceus,” Beau’s voice feels strangled coming out, why is there no intensity, why aren’t they all-

“Miss Beau, we have time. She won’t want to go far. We should set something up that she’ll be excited to see.”

_Everyone is too fucking calm_ Beau wants to scream, _this is_ Jester _we’re talking about._

Yasha nudges her shoulder and nods toward the stairs, “Come up with us,” and finally in her eyes, Beau sees the desperation and fear she feels. (Something akin to guilt takes Beau again, at the gratefulness that she’s not alone.) Yasha’s seen so much and _done_ so much and how is this fair? To have to carry someone else? To have lost someone else?

Beau grits her teeth but nods and leads the way up, around the hot tub, and to the roof, under the endless night sky of Rosahna. Beau folds herself in front of the Traveler shrine, giving it an affectionate pat on the way down and then reaches out her arms. Yasha kneels in front of her to rest Jester’s head on Beau’s lap before slowly lowering the rest of her body to the stonework beneath. Yasha crosses her legs, shoulder to shoulder with Beau as they look down at Jester.

The constellations of purple freckles on her face are all but obscured by blood and dirt. It’s smeared over her cheeks, up in her hair line. There’s even some drying around her nostrils and for some reason, looking at that, it hits Beau all over again that Jester is _dead. She died and I wasn’t there to-_

“How the fuck did this happen?” Beau croaks, and Yasha just shakes her head.

“We failed.”

It’s like a kick to the gut because _she’s fucking right._

“We won’t do that again.”

“Never.” Yasha reaches over and combs her fingers into Jester’s hair, untangling knots and brushing out debris. Beau pours water from her canteen over her belt and starts to clean the worst of the blood off Jester’s cheeks. Most of it’s dry, but there’s a line, a slow trickle from her lips and down her chin that’s shiny and wet. A gory imitation of the tattoo on Yasha’s lip. Beau wipes it away hastily and then lets her eyes slide out of focus watching Yasha’s fingers start to tie braids into Jester’s hair.

“Are you going to tell her?” Yasha doesn’t bother looking up as she asks.

“Tell her what?”

“Beau.”

  
  
“Are you?”

Yasha freezes, cuts her eyes over to Beau and she wonders if she’s stepped too far. But then Yasha sighs and her shoulders slump.

“I- Beau...”

Beau’s hand comes over Yasha’s in Jester’s hair and she weaves her fingers in between and she waits. Waits for Yasha to pull away, to brush her off, out-right reject her but. Large warm fingers closer over hers, matching bloody, bruised knuckles, the braid Yasha had been working on caught between their hands. It steals Beau’s breath, the _what if_ of it all, and her eyes flick up to Yasha’s.

Before either of them can say more, the door at the top of the stairs swings open and the boys and Nott come trooping out. As suspected, Caduceus comes bearing a tray of tea and sets about fixing cups for everyone. Milk and honey for himself, Fjord and Yasha, Caleb’s plain, Nott’s with one scoop of sugar, Beau’s with two and Jester’s with four. It’s a deep blue tea, Beau watches him pour it, and realizes maybe this is how he’s coping. He leaves Jester’s near her hip, sets Beau’s and Yasha’s on either side of it, as neither of them seem to have made a move to take them, before passing the rest out.

He takes a long drag from his cup, hand shaking on the way up but stilled on the way down. Then he sets to work, drawing an intricate circle around them, wide enough to encompass Beau and Yasha at Jester’s head and the rest of them from where they’ve come to land at her sides. Fjord takes up a second piece of chalk and starts sketching a few sigils Beau recognizes as symbols of the Wild Mother. Caduceus hums in approval, patting Fjord on the shoulder. Caleb takes the third piece of chalk in his off-hand (the dominant one claimed by his tea and Nott under his arm) and clumsily draws a dick. It’s a little lumpy and misshapen but it’s obvious what it is and they all smile.

Cad places the diamond reverently on Jesters chest and then lights the candles Fjord had brought up. He seems about to begin when it hits Beau suddenly.

“Fuck. You guys. Where’s Sprinkle?” With Yasha’s help, Beau lifts Jester’s head and starts patting down the (obviously empty) back of Jester’s cloak, “Jester’s gonna lose her mind if she wakes up and we left her goddamn weasel in-”

“I’ve got him,” Fjord grumbles, lifting the side of his armor to display a fluffy tail. The move is accompanied by a low hiss and he swats at the armor a little. It warrants another hiss and Fjord grimaces.

“Little creep climbed out when I was trying to pick her up earli- Ouch!” Fjord snaps his head back down to glare into the neck of his armor, “I’m not happy about it either, ferret, but you don’t get to bite-”

“Sprinkle,” Caduceus leans in closer to Fjord and speaks to the gap by his arm. Fjord freezes.

“Sprinkle, would it be possible for me to have your aid in this matter? I’m sure Jester would be pleased to know about your assistance.”

There’s a scuffling in Fjord’s armor (and he squirms at the tickle of it) and a chittering of little teeth.

“Mmm yes, I understand, leather armor does tend to retain a bit of an odor. I assure you, out here, it’s a bit more of a fresh air situation.”

More shuffling and slowly, cautiously, the weasel pokes his head out, then reaches for Caduceus’ outstretched hand with a paw. Caddy smiles and takes the weasel up to loop around his neck. He looks a little shell shocked, as usual, but Caduceus hands up a little berry from gods know where and the little creature is distracted for the time being.

“I wish I could draw that entire exchange for her,” Beau mutters, low enough that only Yasha can hear her, “She’s gonna be so upset she missed all of that.”

“We’ll tell her.” Yasha’s lips twitch in a smile and she squeezes Beau’s hand.

“Well now,” Caduceus hums, “Are we ready?”

Again, no one answers but he nods solemnly and turns his attention to the circle, “Now. I can cast the spell alone but this ritual is much stronger if some of you contribute something. Three should be plenty so. Just be ready for that.”

With that, he closes his eyes and begins to chant. Almost instantly the chalk lines begin to glow the same deep green as Cad’s healing. Small wisps of light float off from the lines and encase Jester, drifting around her body and then under. They raise up until the back of Jester’s head is just barely resting in Beau’s lap and the rest of her is a good two inches off the ground.

“Who’s first?” Caduceus asks.

Fjord clears his throat quickly and scoots closer to Jester’s side, “Ah… Nott. Would you come here a moment?”

Nott blinks blearily, ( _probably drunk off her ass_ Beau thinks without malice. She can’t really blame her), but when she stands her legs are relatively steady as she hobbles over to Fjord.

With a solemn gentility, Fjord takes Nott’s broken arm but doesn’t look at her and instead speaks to Jester as he unwinds the wraps.

“Jester. Your kindness and… excitement is unparalleled. I don’t think any of us understand how you do it.”

He finishes removing the old wraps and moves his fingers down to probe at the swollen part of Nott’s arm.

“Hey!” Nott starts, wincing and trying to pull away but stops when the cool light of the last of Fjord’s emerald magic for the day trickles out of his fingers and washes down to the bone.

“We have seen the worst of people and the darkest of things and you… You still smile and laugh and give cupcakes to hags and have _hope._ ”

Fjord continues like Nott hasn’t spoken, letting the magic settle in deep, before pulling out a fresh wrapping. He starts at her hand, wrapping each finger carefully, then up over her knobby wrist and almost to the elbow, keeping the previous break stable. With a quick knot, Fjord smooths his thumb across where the break had been. She’s staring at him in confusion as he lets her go and finally he looks at Jester’s face.   
  


“You’re the light in us. You’re the hope and the reminder to care for each other always and keep fighting towards something good. The reminder to be _good._ Or…” he amends, smiling slightly, “Maybe not _too_ good.”

And they all chuckle quietly, no doubt recounting every bit of mischief she’s pulled, the guards she’s pissed off, the books she’s defaced, “Not good but happy. And harmlessly chaotic. And goodness knows we’re all pretty shit at being happy without you reminding us. You are so much more than just a smile, but Gods, do we love it when you do.”

Nott puts a hand on Fjord’s shoulder as he finishes and squeezes, “Thank you, Fjord.”

The circle flares bright purple for a moment and they all stare in awe as it shifts back to the verdant energy from before.

“Second?” Caduceus barely breaks from his chanting, eyes open now.

Yasha shifts, “Ah, yes. I will go.”

She unwinds her fingers gently from Beau’s and inches closer to Jester. From under her cloak, she pulls her book and opens it to the first pages. Yasha heaves a deep breath and then removes something from between the pages. The book is stowed away carefully before she turns back to look into Jester’s face. She’s crying again.

“The first flower Molly ever gave me was the same color as your cheeks.”

She holds up a dry, flat sprig of bluebells and twirls it between her fingers, “He picked one for me and then I picked another because I liked the color so much. I pressed them on the same page. I don’t really know which one is which anymore. I think he would be okay giving them to you now too. You’ve got to finish his cards.” Bending down, she presses a kiss Jester’s forehead, soft as a butterfly’s wing, and then covers the spot with the flower, trailing her hand back over the small braid still knotted in her hair.

She stays close, hovering next to Jester’s ear to whisper, “If you see Mollymauk. Even if it’s just for a moment. Send him our love. And then come back to us, please.”

Beau’s prepared for it this time, as the symbols flair again, this time a bright white that almost looks like lightning. It goes back to green slowly but brighter still and there almost seems to be an audible hum. Beau’s hands are sweating as Yasha settles at her side and she leans to press their shoulder together for just a moment.

“Last one.” Cad is watching them with soft eyes, Beau can feel it, and she raises her hand.

“I’ll go.”

There’s no need to move to get closer to her but even floating above her lap, Jester seems so far away, so she does. Beau’s mind feels empty and she just wants to cry again but… _enough of that._

“Jester I-” She clears her throat. _There’s only one thing to say. It has to be now. Because if this doesn’t work. If she doesn’t come back and I never told her-_

“I’m…” The words stick on the back of Beau’s tongue. It feels like cheating. Or like a debt. This isn’t how she wants it to begin.

“I have a secret,” She says instead, “I’ve never said it out loud to anyone. And I really want to tell you but… I’m not going to. Not now. Not like this. But _when_ you come back to us, ask me. And I swear I’ll tell you. Just not like this.”

And because she feels open and raw and _vulnerable_ , Beau pulls the ribbon from her hair and ties it around Jester’s wrist. It’s something to do, something tangible that tethers Jester to her. _This has to work._

The sigils bloom to life again, the dark blue grey of Beau’s robes and the hum gets louder. Wind rustles the leaves of their tree and whips through their hair. It’s warm and they all jump in surprise as a pleasant, melodic laugh accompanies the breeze. The dick drawing near Caleb’s foot seems to lift from the ground and float over to hang in the air over Jester’s forehead. It descends, passing through Yasha’s flower and as they meld, the dried bloom disintegrates into dust that scatters like new freckles on Jester’s face. The diamond on her chest shatters and the wind catches the pieces. They form into the shape of Jester’s tattoo and sink into her chest. The symbols flair once more, a two toned green, wrapping around and around Jester’s form.

Abruptly, the wind stops, the hum dies and the light fades as each of the candles flickers out one by one. No one moves. No one breathes. Slowly, Jester lowers back to the ground, her head coming to rest once again in Beau’s lap.

“Did it work?” Caleb finally breaks the silence, his hand coming up to rest on Jester’s shin. Every eye is glued on Jester’s face, still slack and devoid of any movement. Every second feels like an eternity.

“It had to,” Nott murmurs, wide, yellow eyes wet and sliding in and out of focus.

Beau feels like there’s a vice around her chest, slowly clamping tighter and tighter with each passing moment that she doesn’t move. Yasha is nearly vibrating with stillness at her side and _oh fuck, what if it didn’t work._

Which is when, with a gasp, Jester’s eyes fly open and she sits bolt upright. She sucks on deep breath in before hacking and coughing, crumpling backwards. Both Yasha and Beau are ready to catch her when she does, both murmuring nonsense and breathing almost as hard as Jester. Nott shrieks with joy, flinging her arms around Jester’s waist, her face pressed into Jester’s stomach and Caleb’s knuckles go white on her leg.

Caduceus looks utterly exhausted but smiles widely, clapping Fjord on the shoulder and then using him to lean on as Fjord laughs in relief.

Finally, _finally,_ Jester’s eyes open again and she breathes a little easier. Her hand pats Nott clumsily on the head and then reaches sluggishly for Beau and Yasha. They give her their hands immediately, still bowed low over her. She looks between the six of her friends from her position against Beau’s legs and smiles. It’s small and a little tired but fuck, if it’s not the most beautiful thing Beau’s ever seen.

“Hi.”


End file.
